The Master Race Affair
by Dancing April
Summary: On assignment in Bolivia with Solo, a captured and wounded Illya falls into the heinous hands of one of Nazi Germany's most notorious female scientists and war criminals.
1. Chapter 1

Hi All! So here it is: my second foray into MFU fanfic, and I hope you will enjoy reading this one, which is more action/adventure than the first.

Also, please allow me to take a moment to _sincerely thank_ everyone who has read my first story ("The 'O Sweet Revenge' Affair"), and to say as well how grateful I am to those of you—Members and Guests—who took time to share with me your thoughts and reactions to that story via Reviews and PMs! Your feedback and encouragement is truly deeply appreciated more than you realize. xxDA

So now on to the particulars for "The Master Race Affair":

 ***T* Rating for some violence, a little language, and adult themes** (no erotica or slash)

 **Categories: Action/Adventure, Suspense**

 ** _A FOREWORD ABOUT THE GERMAN PHRASING USED IN THIS STORY._** _I consulted with at least 3 different online translation sites, including Babylon, to choose the German phrasing I've used for some character dialogue. If you are familiar with that language and feel the phrasing is not quite right, I apologize. Also, in most cases, where such phrasing is used, the translation is provided. Otherwise the German characters would realistically be speaking in German—but in the story their dialogue is mostly presented in English for obvious reasons._

Disclaimer: I do not own the Man From U.N.C.L.E. series, images, or its original characters. This story is intended to be read and (hopefully) enjoyed solely as a work of fanfiction and is dedicated to the talented actors who portrayed these beloved characters in the two original 1960s television series—Robert Vaughn, David McCallum, Leo G. Carroll, Stefanie Powers, Noel Harrison

* * *

This story features Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin, with an appearance by Alexander Waverly

* * *

 **Prologue**

 **Somewhere in Bolivia, South America**

Lying on his stomach, filthy and sweat-soaked despite the cool air whooshing past him, U.N.C.L.E. agent Napoleon Solo inched and slithered his way through the barely man-sized ductwork of the fortress as quietly as he could. At each vent opening he would pause to try and scan the corridor or room below for any sign of his partner, Illya Kuryakin.

The other agent had only had time to transmit to Solo using a stolen THRUSH pocket communicator that his presence had been detected, thereby jeopardizing the mission.

Kuryakin had urgently whispered, ".. _am compromised. There…another hid...lab. You must find...complete mis…no matter…._ " before the static-laden connection had failed and Solo could not get him back.

Now on a rescue mission to find his partner as well as complete their mission, the senior agent was desperately trying to locate Illya's whereabouts within the massive complex by using the structure's air and heating ducts, which for maintenance purposes were just large enough for someone his size or a little larger to navigate through.

On occasion he could hear the sounds of the search for Illya, and from what he could gather, they were only looking for one intruder: his partner—which gave Solo reason to believe the inhabitants were not aware of his presence as of yet.

He saw another opening just a few feet ahead and worked his way toward that, guessing he must be in the utmost levels of the building by now.

Taking a moment to wipe dust and sweat from his eyes, he cautiously inched closer toward the square of light. Peering down, he heard movement in this room, which seemed devoid of furnishings. Then to his vast relief Napoleon saw the unmistakable blond head and black-clad form of his partner, gun in hand, as the other U.N.C.L.E. agent lithely moved in and out of his limited viewing range through the vent grating.

He could tell Illya was casing the room for a means of escape, going to the window and looking out at the steep mountain drop below, perhaps even gauging if there was a ledge wide enough for him to traverse.

To free up his hands the Russian reached behind him, deftly sliding the gun into its holster nestled against the small of his back under his clothing, and then began trying unsuccessfully to push open the heavy multipaned window.

" _Illya_ ," Solo whispered as loudly as he dared.

The blond agent jerked around, startled.

" _Up here, look at the vent_ ," Solo rasped.

The younger man's vivid blue eyes gazed up toward the ceiling and spotted the vent opening. He could barely make out Solo's shadowed face pressed close to the lattice metal covering.

"How on earth did you….?" Kuryakin began, speaking in low tones as he peered up at him, but Solo interrupted, urgently warning: " _They_ _are_ _searching everywhere for you and are close by but I don't think I've been detected yet. Did you say there's another lab? Where is it?"_

Illya's expression grew grim. "Yes, a secret laboratory, one I overheard them talking about, but I wasn't able to find its location. It may not even be in this building. That is the one which must be destroyed at all costs, Napoleon, no matter what happens to me." He paused, adding bitterly as he stared intently up at his partner and friend: "I'm sorry I failed you…and Waverly. Will you tell him that?"

They both understood as U.N.C.L.E. agents that in some situations, like this one, an agent could become expendable— especially if he or she were captured—for the sake of completing the mission when so much was at stake.

Knowing that Illya's life was on the line, Solo whispered anxiously, " _Is there anything down there to stand on so you can reach me?"_

The fair-haired agent glanced quickly around the empty room and then looked bleakly back up at him, shaking his head. "There's nothing in here for me to use to get up that high. I'm not even sure I could fit through that vent opening if I could reach it" He paused, his keen mind racing. "How close are they? Can I leave here and try to find another…."

He didn't finish because the door to the room suddenly burst open, slamming so hard against the wall it rattled the window panes.

In reflex Illya whirled defensively, pulling out his gun from the back holster.

But it did him little good. As fast as the youthful U.N.C.L.E. agent was his adversary was quicker—and stronger. Solo heard a hoarse guttural shout and then saw a large hand grab the slim Russian's extended gun arm and deflect the shot aside as Illya fired…then violently yank him out of Napoleon's limited line of sight.

There were the unmistakable sounds of a fierce struggle…then a muffled curse, followed by a sharp agonized cry from Illya that was abruptly cut off.

Hidden up in the vent shaft Napoleon Solo listened, then watched helplessly in mute anguish as he saw his partner's body suddenly fly past his line of vision and hit the gray stone wall of the empty room.

Because he was already unconscious before he was thrown into the wall, Illya made no sound as he fell hard to the patterned carpet. He landed sprawled face down, right arm flung out and bent at an unnatural angle.

The young Russian's mane of pale hair obscured his features from Solo's view and he lay so still and silent that the senior agent could only pray he hadn't just witnessed the death of his partner and friend.

A hulking middle-aged man with a knobby bald head came into view and bent over the young man to see if he was still breathing. He then grabbed a fistful of Illya's flaxen hair with stubby fingers as he growled ominously in German, "You may not be dead yet, boy, but you will be when I snap your neck as easily as I did your arm." The look on his face was murderous, and Solo could see blood streaming from the broad nose where Illya had managed to land a solid blow despite the obvious difference in their size and strength.

In an instinctive effort to protect his helpless partner from the hulking brute's deadly intent Solo quickly sighted his gun through the grillwork and was about to fire when unexpectedly a woman's stern voice ordered sharply in German, "That's enough, Bruno! He's not to be further damaged! Pick him up and take him to the laboratory below."

Reluctantly releasing his grip on Illya's hair the big man glared belligerently over toward someone Solo could not see, but said nothing and did as told. He swiped the blood from his nose and then flipped the unconscious captive onto his back heedless of the damaged arm and scooped his limp form up into his own massive arms as easily as if he was lifting a sleeping child.

Solo caught one brief glimpse of his partner's bruised, chalky face and closed eyes as he was carried out of sight.

The U.N.C.L.E. agent tiredly rubbed his hands over his grimy face, his thoughts in turmoil. With Illya's capture Plan A of this assignment had gone deplorably awry, and now he could only hope that their backup Plan B would not only salvage the mission…but save his friend's life as well.


	2. Part I

**Part One**

 **"Such a splendid specimen…."**

* * *

It had taken Napoleon Solo a good while to work his way back through the labyrinth of air shafts and down the narrow maintenance access ladders to reach the laboratory in the basement level of the fortress. He was exhausted and covered in dirt, feeling like a human dust rag; but a lot more was at stake than his own discomfort. He had a Nazi war criminal to kill and his partner to rescue.

Illya lay motionless on a polished metal examining table in the center of a stark white, brightly-lit room that smelled strongly of medicines and chemicals. Cabinets filled with vials and jars of colored liquids lined the stark walls. It looked like a laboratory but Solo now knew it wasn't the one he and Kuryakin had been sent there to destroy.

He could see his friend's chest rising and falling rapidly and hear the young man's ragged breathing, which told him Illya had broken ribs and possibly a punctured lung as well.

A tall rail-thin woman with graying light-colored hair pinned into a large neat bun on top of her head and dressed in a pristine white lab coat with matching pants and shoes stood staring down at Illya. The planes of her face were sharp and her eyes were a pale blue. Recognizing her from her U.N.C.L.E. dossier photos Solo knew she was in her late 50s and that her name was Dr. Sonja Dressler. He also knew she was their quarry, the other reason beside her lab that had brought the two U.N.C.L.E. agents to this remote mountainous region of Bolivia—and that she was extremely cunning and dangerous.

Uneasily he watched her hover over his inert partner.

Thinking she was alone the woman was gazing with open appreciation at her unconscious captive, admiring the abundant wealth of streaked golden hair fanned out around his head, the fair complexion, and the dark gold lashes and almost delicate features of the otherwise male face. She leaned down, and with long tapering fingers carefully pried open one of Illya's closed eyelids.

" _Wunderbar, einfach wunderbar!"_ ("Wonderful, simply/just wonderful"), she muttered with satisfaction when she saw the pure blue brilliance of the iris. She touched Illya's pale cheek briefly then reached for a pair of surgical scissors laying among other implements neatly arranged on a portable lab cart she'd pulled up to the table earlier.

Pulling out his gun Napoleon watched tensely as one of Nazi Germany's most notorious female war criminals picked up the gleaming scissors and turned back to his partner.

He steadied his weapon and attempted to get a clear line of shot at the woman's head, but the design of the grating cover and placement of the air vent provided obstacles to his aim. If he missed he likely would be captured, even killed, and that would do Illya no good.

The only saving grace for the moment was that he could now tell that the notorious Nazi scientist did not mean to further harm her captive, at least not right now.

Dressler called out a name that Solo did not catch and immediately he heard a door open and another white-coated woman, this one in her 40s with short-cropped raven hair and deeply tanned skin, moved into view.

"You have need of me, Dock-tor?" she asked in English with a Spanish accent.

" _Ja_ , help me remove his clothing so I might assess ze full extent of his injuries," Dressler also replied in accented English.

The Nazi doctor handed her the scissors then picked up a second pair from the instrument tray. "We shall start with his sweater first and then tend to ze damaged arm," she said, and together the two women began cutting off Illya's black turtleneck.

As the material fell away from his arms and torso Solo also had a better look at how badly the Russian's right arm was damaged. It lay by his side, twisted grotesquely, its coloring unnatural. It was apparent, even from that distance, that the arm had been wrenched from its socket as well as broken. Now seeing the badly-maimed limb Solo cringed inwardly at the recollection of Illya's gut-wrenching cry of agony earlier.

Once they'd finished the women put the scissors aside and proceeded to address the injured arm.

"We must first snap it back into ze shoulder socket. Then we will see to ze break," Dressler told the medical assistant, and together the two of them worked over Illya until the limb went back into its socket with a sharp snap.

A low moan escaped from the young man and his panting breaths grew more rapid. Yet Illya still remained unconscious, which Solo was grateful for given what the women were putting him through.

The Nazi doctor said, "Now help me set and put a cast on ze arm which Bruno in his d _ummkopf_ zeal has broken."

When that was finally finished Dressler used her hands to feel carefully along Illya's lean rib cage. She then picked up a stethoscope from the cart tray and listened intently to his ragged breathing for a few moments.

Removing the stethoscope and setting it back on the cart tray Dressler told the aide, "Our young intruder also has some cracked ribs, as you can see from ze swelling and bruising. But I do not believe any are fully broken nor has a lung been punctured, which is _gut_. We will lightly bind his ribs and that should help ease his breathing along with the pain medications I will give him.

 _At least they're giving him some help,_ Solo thought bleakly. But then what will she do with Illya? He had little doubt that the infamous Nazi doctor had no intention of releasing her captive.

When the two women finished stabilizing the arm and binding Illya's ribs ****** they turned their attention to his lower body. The gun holster belt had already been removed, confiscated along with his weapon and the identification he'd been carrying. The THRUSH communicator they had not found because Illya had hidden that in a safe place before his capture to conceal the fact he was in contact with someone else.

At Dressler's request the lab aide removed Illya's shoes and socks while the Nazi doctor unfastened his pants, then the two women slipped those off, leaving him clad only in his white Lycra cotton briefs.

While the aide set the clothing aside Sonja Dressler proceeded to run her hands slowly down along each of the insensible young man's bare legs, noting, "He has no injuries on these lower limbs other than bruising, so that is also _gut_." Straightening she turned to the aid: "Thank you, Mavra, that will be all for now. I will call if I have need of you again."

Nodding, the lab aide moved out of sight and Solo heard the soft click of a door closing…and Illya was left alone with the infamous Nazi doctor once more.

* * *

Sonja Dressler stuck her hands in her lab coat pockets as she swept her pale-eyed gaze appraisingly over her mostly-unclad captive, noting with approval how well-toned and formed his athletic body was, studying the tightly-muscled flesh with avid interest.

" _Eine so perfekte muster!_ ," ("Such a splendid specimen!"), she breathed aloud, sounding almost giddy.

As if responding to her strange observation and intense scrutiny, Illya stirred restlessly and began to open his eyes, giving a moan of pain as awareness slowly returned. But Sonja Dressler immediately picked up a syringe from the lab cart, filled it with a clear fluid, and injected its contents into a vein in his left arm.

(In German) "There, _mein Schatz_ (my treasure), you will continue to rest pain-free for several hours more." As she spoke she began stroking his hair and face, and almost immediately he quieted again, falling into drugged oblivion.

Hidden in the airshaft above Solo grimaced with distaste for his partner's sake. But the Nazi doctor's intimate words and almost-loving caresses she was giving the unconscious young man lying before her told Solo she may have taken the bait—and if so, Plan B was now in effect.

But at what ultimate cost to Illya?

Satisfied that her charge was now heavily sedated, Sonja Dressler moved away from him and rolled the instrument cart back to its niche alongside one of the cabinets. She then went back to the examining table and reached below it, pulling up large leather straps which she crossed over Illya's upper chest and legs and then fastened them securely. She covered the youthful Russian with a white sheet, and then moved out of sight until Solo heard the door click open and close once again.

So what was she now planning to do with Illya? he worried. Keep him as a drugged, unwilling boy-toy? he thought with a flash of dark humor. It was more than apparent she was already taken with him by his appearance alone.

No, Solo's instincts told him it was far more sinister than that, knowing Sonja Dressler's infamous reputation for horrific and unethical experimentation on human subjects, both male and female.

Then he recalled she had used the words " _splendid specimen_ " to describe his unconscious partner in a way that gave even Solo, a hardened agent, the willies.

* * *

 ****** A couple of side notes: at the time this story takes place (the 1960s), binding cracked ribs like Illya's was a common practice. However, today that is seldom done as constricting the chest and ribs can lead to shallow breathing, thereby increasing the risk for lung infections like pneumonia. Pain meds are generally all the treatment given to help a patient deal with the discomfort of injured ribs until they heal.

I was shocked and sickened while doing research for this story at how many women willingly participated in the most horrendous of Nazi war crimes; and many of those women were later hanged as war criminals.


	3. Part II

**Part II**

 **"...you shall be severely punished... _"_**

* * *

(Two days' later)

Dr. Sonja Dressler slowly circled the metal chair in which Illya was seated and bound with straps around his waist and legs. His good left arm was manacled to the chair arm as well. Bare-chested, he wore a cast on his broken right arm supported by a neck sling, and linen bindings encircled his chest to stabilize his fractured ribs as they healed. Barefoot as well, his only clothing was a pair of white pajama bottoms which had replaced his underwear.

(Dressler, speaking to him in German:) "Now, _mein lieber_ , (my dear) you shall tell me what I wish to know. Identification found on you indicates you work for an organization called THRUSH. I have heard of them." She paused, standing directly behind the blond U.N.C.L.E. agent and put a hand out to smooth the back of his hair. Illya flinched at the unwelcome touch despite the fact he was still hazy from the pain medication and sedatives she'd been giving him.

The Nazi doctor ignored his reaction to her touch and continued. "We also know your name is Nikolaus Werner. Why would THRUSH send a young German agent here to Bolivia to break into my facility? What interest could I be to them?"

Illya resolutely stayed silent, staring down at his lap as she continued to finger bright strands of his long hair. They were not alone in the room. A lanky bony-faced man in his 50s with cropped dark blond hair and cold blue eyes lounged nearby in another chair, quietly smoking as he watched them.

Above in an airshaft Napoleon Solo had resumed his vigil over his partner. During the past few days while Illya was being kept heavily sedated Napoleon had taken the opportunity to return to where he'd hidden his knapsack, had cleaned himself up as much as he could, eaten some rations, and rested.

He'd also done more reconnaissance of the building, looking for the second, secret lab Illya had mentioned. So far, however, he'd had no luck in locating it.

Now he was overlooking a different room, one obviously utilized for interrogations.

The Nazi doctor moved around in front of Illya again frowning down at her bogus THRUSH captive. Her expression becoming more severe, she reached out and grabbed his chin hard, painfully forcing his head up and back so she could stare into his clouded gaze. Even from his vantage point Napoleon could see the dark purpling under Illya's eyes in sharp contrast against his chalky pallor. He looked quite ill.

Dressler said in a stern tone: "Do not act like a recalcitrant child with me, _b_ _übchen_ (little boy). Or you shall be severely punished I can assure you. Now, answer my questions, Nikolaus! I truly do not relish the idea of causing you more pain _."_

Solo bit his lip as he monitored the tableau below, knowing Illya's life hung in a precarious balance. So far Sonja Dressler had taken U.N.C.L.E.'s bait…which in this case was Illya himself. When the agents had been given the assignment to go to Bolivia and find the Nazi scientist before THRUSH did and destroy her and her laboratory, two plans had been developed for this mission—A and B.

In their briefing with Waverly, Solo and Kuryakin had been told Sonja Dressler was a brilliant scientist and eugenicist ****** who had performed countless enforced sterilizations on so-called German undesirables during Adolf Hitler's regime. She had also been a highly placed Hitler confident who whole-heartedly had endorsed his obsessive (and historically skewed) vision of creating a superior blond, blue-eyed Aryan master race. Dressler's vile and morally-questionable genetic experiments to bring the Führer's dream to fruition were legendary and had placed her high on the international most-wanted list of the over 9,000 Nazi war criminals who had escaped Germany and fled to several countries in South America following Hitler's downfall and demise.

Word had leaked to U.N.C.L.E. as to where Dr. Sonja Dressler might be hiding in Bolivia and that she had continued her experiments to such an extent as to peak THRUSH's interest as well. U.N.C.L.E. higher-ups knew it would not be long before THRUSH would be seeking Dressler out to determine how genetic manipulation could be used to their advantage of creating a race of super warriors.

New York U.N.C.L.E. Chief Alexander Waverly was keenly aware that of all his top agents, Illya Kuryakin—with his flaxen hair, vibrant blue eyes, fair complexion, and youth and glowing vitality—fit the "Nordic" ideal of the Nazi Aryan male. The young agent, an excellent cat burglar, was also gifted at speaking several languages and imitating their accents. Thus, given the Russian-born Kuryakin's striking physical appearance and multilingual abilities, passing himself off as pure German-born would be easy.

Since Kuryakin would be exposing himself to the most personal risk on this mission to Bolivia, in the event he was captured (or killed) he would be carrying fake German identification to complete the subterfuge.

He would also have on him THRUSH credentials to add to his cover story, as would Solo since Waverly knew that U.N.C.L.E. would be violating an international treaty by sending his agents into Bolivia without prior permission from that country's government; so in the event Kuryakin or Solo were captured or killed, Waverly wanted to ensure that Sonja Dressler and Bolivian officials believed they was associated with THRUSH and not U.N.C.L.E.

Kuryakin's assignment, therefore, was to access Sonja Dressler's Bolivian fortress and try to locate the Nazi doctor, kill her, and destroy her genetics laboratory. It was rare U.N.C.L.E. agents were given a direct order to assassinate someone, and especially a woman, but to allow Dressler to become allied to THRUSH was just too dangerous.

Napoleon Solo would be his partner's backup liaison and stay in hiding somewhere near the fortress in case something went wrong and Plan A (*Annihilate*) failed, which it now had for the moment with Kuryakin's capture.

After Illya had contacted him saying the mission was compromised because his presence had been detected, Solo managed to get inside the complex and hide in its labyrinth of air shafts while the fortress's occupants were distracted with their intensive search for an unauthorized lone intruder: his partner.

Then when Illya had been caught and taken prisoner Solo had transmitted a scrambled communication to Waverly which, when decoded, simply read: _Russian Roulet_ te. His Section Chief would understand that Plan A had failed and Solo was now in charge because both the mission and Illya were in jeopardy—and that Plan B ("Bait") was now in play.

Whether it would work or not remained to be seen.

* * *

Solo watched anxiously as Sonja Dressler gave a curt nod to the third occupant in the room, and the smoking man put out his cigarette, stood and walked over to a silver console with an assortment of dials and switches.

"Begin, Heinrich," the Nazi doctor ordered, standing away from Illya.

The assistant, Heinrich Bauer, threw a switch and there was a low humming vibrational noise that grew louder as he slowly turned a large dial. Solo saw Illya jerk then gasp in surprise and pain as low voltage electricity surged through his system from the conduits built into the chair in which he was seated and bound.

"Are you ready to talk to me now, Nikolaus?" the Nazi doctor asked, arms folded across her chest as she once again slowly circled around her captive. Yet Illya remained defiantly silent despite the pain; and above in the airshaft, Solo braced himself for what was to come.

The woman gave another nod in the direction of Bauer and once again he gave the knob another turn. The machine's humming grew louder as the voltage intensified.

Illya moaned softly and then slumped back into the chair, eyes closed and head lolling to one side, his lax body spasming as the electrical charge continued to surge through him.

 _For chrissake, stop it_! Solo thought angrily, seeing his partner's obvious distress. It was all he could do to contain his rage and not start firing through the vent covering at the two inhuman monsters who were cruelly torturing his ill and suffering friend.

Yet it was now even more imperative that he restrain himself for reasons pertinent to completing the mission and to allow Illya to play out his pivotal new role in distracting Sonja Dressler with his unexpected presence while Solo tried to find her secret laboratory. The U.N.C.L.E. agent also knew that guards were stationed outside that chamber, and once more he had to remind himself that if he killed Dressler and Bauer now, he'd be discovered and more than likely killed….and both Illya and the mission would be lost as well.

"That is too much! Stop, Heinrich! He's had enough!" Dressler ordered sharply as if voicing Solo's turbulent thoughts moments before, and her assistant reversed the knob and threw a switch. The noise from the machine immediately ceased, as did the flow of electric current to Illya's chair.

"Little bastard didn't last long," Bauer sneered as he resumed his seat in his own chair. He pulled out a packet of German cigarettes from the inner pocket of his lab jacket, plucked one out and deftly lit it, narrowed eyes gazing with contempt at the unconscious blond young man.

"He's weakened from his injuries and the drugs," Dressler replied tartly, gripping Illya's limp left wrist to feel for a pulse. "We will let him rest and try again shortly," she decided. "I don't want him too damaged. I have such special plans for him," she added, stroking her captive's pale cheek. "Stay with him until I return." And with that she left the room.

* * *

 ****** A side note regarding eugenics: In addition to the horrors of the Holocaust, in Nazi Germany hundreds of thousands of German citizens were forcibly sterilized or just eliminated in order to prevent them from further *polluting* the "pure Aryan" gene pool. Those targeted included the mentally ill, people with disabilities including the blind and deaf, homosexuals, political dissidents, prisoners, and anyone suffering with health issues like epilepsy, cerebral palsy, and muscular distrophy. Heinous laws, programs, and institutions were specifically created to identify and sterilize or eliminate these "undesirables" in order to cull them out of the populace by using the most horrific and brutal methods.

If Sonja Dressler were actually a real person, she would have been in charge of such programs and institutions and performed these acts herself as well.


	4. Part III

**Part III**

 **"So… a little boy attempts to play a grownup's game."**

* * *

 _Come on, Illya, stop the heroics and tell them what they want to hear_! Solo thought tersely, agitated by what his partner was allowing himself to be put through.

The interrogation had begun again and Napoleon could see that Illya was on the losing end. He had endured a couple more rounds of the nasty shock treatments, and once again seemed barely conscious. When Dressler had returned she had given him an injection, which she explained to Heinrich Bauer would help keep their captive awake longer as they interrogated him.

For the moment they had ceased torturing the young U.N.C.L.E. agent with jolts of electricity and now the Nazi doctor was standing in front of her prized prisoner.

(Dressler, in German, using an endearment:) " _Liebchen,_ once more I ask…why have you come here? Who in THRUSH sent you? What is there interest in me?" She leaned forward and stroked the side of his face, staring intently into Illya's dazed blue eyes. "Tell me what I wish to know and this torment shall stop and no further harm shall come to you, I promise."

To Napoleon's vast relief his partner nodded weekly and slowly began to answer her. These were the first words Illya had spoken to his captors since he'd been taken three days earlier and Solo proudly noted that his German and accent were flawless.

(Illya, in faltering yet fluent German) "I, I… am a third level clerk in the…German records division of THRUSH," he began, barely able to hold his head up. He swallowed hard. "I saw a minor….report mentioning the…..infamous Dr. Sonja Dressler might still be alive and…living in this region…. of Bolivia." He took a shuddering breath as he tried to gather his thoughts. "THRUSH receives thousands of reports daily and….and…. this caught no one's attention but mine." He stopped speaking and his thick-lashed eyelids lowered as if he were about to pass out.

The Nazi doctor lightly slapped him on both cheeks, saying, " _Nien, liebchen_! You must keep talking. Stay awake! Open your eyes!"

Illya jerked and pulled away from her and tried to straighten in the chair. "I...requested a personal leave and…came here secretly, thinking that if I could prove…. you were alive, my superiors at THRUSH would reward me with….. a high level promotion. I knew they would be interested…in learning of your experiments in…in genetic manipulation…and…would offer…you financial…backing." His eyes began to lose focus again. "I was… impatient…. to…. be more…. than a low-level…file clerk…and wanted to…prove myself to them." These last few words were slurred as Illya finally passed out from the ordeal of the grueling sessions.

From his vantage point hidden in the air shaft, Napoleon Solo held his breath waiting for Dressler's reaction: had she bought Illya's cover story?

The Nazi doctor stood staring at her prisoner for a long moment, then gave an incredulous laugh. Wincing, Solo decided it was not a pleasant sound.

With heightened anxiety he watched as the rail-thin woman once more began fondly stroking Illya's golden hair.

"So, is this not most amusing, heh, Heinrich?!" she exclaimed. "No one has discovered me for over twenty years until a little boy attempts to play a grownup's game," she mused aloud, smiling down at her captive's bowed head.

Now it was Solo's turn to smile. He knew that Illya—a cunning and dangerous man, and certainly no green boy despite his youthful looks—would normally bristle at her assessment of him. But right now appearing foolishly young, if not foolhardy, had been part of the plan that so far seemed to be working in his favor with this brilliant and dangerous woman.

That—and the fact Illya looked like an angelic version of Dressler's Aryan fantasy man come to life was also keeping him alive, Solo knew, having observed her growing fascination with his partner.

From behind her Heinrich Bauer spoke. "Sonja, he said THRUSH did not know he had come here. You should dispose of him now that you have learned what you wanted to know." Still smoking his cigarette he got up from the chair and went to stand beside her. "I can easily kill him now by increasing the current voltage to maximum," he offered in a cold voice.

Bauer had been a member of the ruthless _Schutzstaffel,_ or SS _,_ which rose to become the most feared and powerful paramilitary organization in Nazi Germany. Assigned by Hitler to be one of Sonja Dressler's bodyguards, he had fled to Bolivia with her and now served as her personal assistant.

Above in the airshaft, Solo decided he intensely disliked Heinrich Bauer.

Fortunately for Illya's sake the besotted Nazi doctor was adamantly objecting to Bauer's suggestion.

" _NIEN!"_ she snapped at him. "Were you not listening before?! Did I not tell you I have special plans for Nikolaus?!"

Yet Bauer persisted. "I can see you are taken with him, Sonja, because of his youth and appearance, but it's dangerous to keep the boy alive. Someone may still come looking for him. Let me kill and dispose…." but she angrily cut him off.

"Do not argue with me about this matter anymore, Heinrich! I want Nikolaus harmed no further. Do I make myself clear?"

He nodded sullenly and took another drag of his cigarette, but said nothing more.

She gave him a chilly look and said, "Those things will be the death of you someday," referring to his chain-smoking habit. "Now go call Bruno. We are done here and I want the boy returned to his room."

"As you wish," the lanky man replied curtly and left.

Solo's hard gaze followed him as he disappeared through the doorway. He'd observed that Heinrich Bauer was cruel by nature and had taken malicious delight in torturing Illya in his weakened condition. And snuffing out his life while he was unconscious and defenseless would have added to the man's own perverse pleasure aside from his arguments to Dressler.

 _It's not the cigarettes that are going to kill you, my friend_ , _and that's a promise_ ," he muttered under his breath.

* * *

It was nearly 3 a.m. and Illya stirred restlessly on the narrow bed in the room he'd been put in. The break in his arm had become infected, and he was feverish and in a lot of discomfort despite the antibiotics and pain meds Dressler had been giving him. His entire body ached, including his ribs, although his right arm and shoulder were the main cause of his restlessness.

He had sensed that Napoleon had been close by during the interrogations and had taken comfort in that. And he also knew that his partner would finish the mission even if he, Illya, didn't make it through this one.

" _Sind Sie_ _da_?" ("Are you there?") he mumbled softy in German, staying in character.

He heard a faint tap from the air vent covering above him and in the dim light of a small lamp sitting on a table by his bedside he saw two fingers briefly waggle at him through the grillwork.

Relief washed over the young Russian in knowing Solo was on duty and still there to watch over him…and that if he should die it would not be only among strangers and enemies.


	5. Part IV

**Part IV**

 **"...I have such great use of you...and your beautiful German DNA."**

* * *

The next day a badly fatigued and semi-drugged Illya watched Sonja Dressler warily as the thin Nazi scientist settled herself at her gray metal desk in the small paper-cluttered office adjacent to her laboratory.

Once he'd awoken and been fed , the U.N.C.L.E. agent was taken there in a wheelchair by Bruno Hoffman, who now stood directly behind him standing guard even though Illya was manacled to the wheelchair and in no condition to put up much of a fight.

The big man's nose was still swollen from where the U.N.C.L.E. agent had punched him, and every time Bruno looked at the captive his expression was one of intense hatred. He privately hoped the doctor would soon tire of coddling the little sh*t and give him free rein to do to the kid what he devoutly wished…which was to slowly break every other bone in his body.

Although Illya had a sense of Bruno's desire to do him a lot more bodily harm, he was less worried right now about the mountain of menace standing behind him than he was of exactly what Sonja Dressler wanted from him.

The Nazi doctor clasped her hands in front of her and leaned slightly forward toward Illya. She was wearing a light pink lipstick and was dressed in a dark green long-sleeved dress with white collar and cuffs. She had changed her hairstyle as well. Her gray-blond hair was pinned in neat braids around her head and her pale blue eyes were staring at the blond agent so intently that Illya had to will himself to sit perfectly still and not squirm in his seat. To his chagrin he realized she was dressed this way for his benefit.

He was experienced enough to recognize when a woman desired him, and Sonja Dressler was now doing very little to hide her feelings for him despite their considerable age difference or the fact that he was her prisoner. But it was also apparent she was keeping him alive for a purpose beyond the fact she was attracted to him.

As if reading his thoughts she said (In German), "So, _liebchen_ , you are of course wondering why I haven't had you terminated."

Illya nodded slightly, but otherwise said nothing.

Napoleon Solo, hidden in the air shaft above the office, was also listening intently.

"Let me explain it this way, Nikolaus," she continued, still holding his gaze with her own. "Since you have read my file at THRUSH you are aware of my experiments in the Homeland while our brilliant Führer was in power. And you must also know of his ambition to create a magnificent Master Race of Aryan men and women so superior they would eventually become the rightful inheritors of the earth."

Again, Illya merely nodded.

"Well, you see, my _liebling_ , all these years I have continued with my experiments until I am now ready to turn the Führer's great vision into a reality by creating such a superior human being!" She leaned back in her chair, smiling at him. "Aahh, I see you don't believe me. It is an amazing concept, I understand. Well then perhaps it is better to show you what I mean."

Dressler rose and walked around her desk, saying "Bruno, come along. We shall take our young guest to my genetics lab." She then left the office, and Hoffman followed dutifully pushing Illya in the wheelchair.

 _So she's taking him to that secret lab,_ Solo thought with heightened anticipation. The question remained: was it in this building or located somewhere else, perhaps deeper within the mountain itself? He smiled grimly. Once he knew its exact location he could get Illya out of here and fulfill the mission.

He attempted to follow the trio using the metal maze of ductwork as quickly and quietly as possible. But by the time Napoleon got to the main laboratory and could peer through one of the vent coverings again he saw that the large room was empty and there was no sign of Illya or the others.

They had disappeared.

* * *

While Solo was anxiously trying to figure out where his partner and the others had gone, Illya was being shown the secret genetics lab.

They had accessed this hidden laboratory by way of what was obviously a small storage room off the outer lab, its walls lined with large gray cabinets and matching metal shelves.

The Nazi scientist had pressed a hidden lever behind one of the cabinets, and it swung out noiselessly away from the wall to reveal a much larger chamber hidden behind it.

Still following Dressler, Bruno had wheeled Illya into her special lab, and then pulled the cabinet shut again.

However, even if Napoleon had seen them enter that hidden room he could not have followed via the ductwork as the genetics lab had its own independent cooling and heating system for precision climate control.

Unaware of Napoleon's dilemma of not knowing where the Germans had taken him, Illya glanced around the laboratory, noting that it held an array of equipment, cabinets, and what looked to be oversized upright freezers and coolers, some large enough to easily hold a person.

In the center of the room was a stainless steel operating platform. This one, however, looked more formidable than the table in the outer lab upon which the Nazi doctor had tended to Illya's injuries.

This table had restraints and even foot stirrups affixed to it, and beneath were large floor drains, which in itself was ominous. Overhead hung an array of gleaming instruments that gave even the normally stoic Kuryakin the creeps.

In fact, everything about the place made the hairs on the back of his neck bristle, and he felt a shiver of foreboding when he recalled what he'd read about the types of horrific and inhuman experiments Dr. Sonja Dressler had performed on Holocaust and other victims with Hitler's approval.

And the fact she was eager to show him this lab didn't bode well for him either, Illya realized with growing trepidation.

Glancing at her captive, Dressler swept her arm out, saying in a tone full of pride, "Controlled human reproduction in the laboratory setting is now indeed a reality, _liebchen_. I have perfected a technique whereby I can extract eggs from a woman's ovaries and fertilize them outside the womb ****** to create a viable, living zygote, which within a short time can then be implanted back into any healthy womb as an embryo! And this is just the beginning! I am on the verge of also being able to genetically modify an embryo before it is implanted! Just think, Nickolaus! hundreds….no, thousands…of genetically-engineered Aryan children can someday be produced in laboratories like this."

For the first time since she'd begun talking Illya visibly reacted to what she was saying to him, thinking she truly was a dangerous megalomaniac that needed to be stopped.

Catching his uneasy reaction but misinterpreting his thoughts, she smiled at him. "Aahhh, I see by your expression that the concept shocks you…that you don't believe me. But it is true! And I am going to prove it to you soon."

She signaled Bruno to open the hidden door, saying, "We are done here for today. Take Nikolaus back to his room and stay on watch outside."

To Illya she added, smoothing his hair as she gazed fondly down at him: "For now you must rest, and then tomorrow we will begin."

"Begin…what?" he asked warily.

Her hand moved down to stroke his cheek. "My greatest experiment of all! You, _meine Kostbarkeit_ (my preciousness) I have chosen to be the Father of this new Master Race I shall create in here. But I must be sure, of course, that you are not sterile. That can happen to even such an attractive virile-looking young man like yourself…although I truly have no doubt you shall prove a most healthy and productive donor to help bring fruition to our Führer's great vision."

At her words Illya's face drained of what little color it still held and his blue eyes stared up at her with shock and dismay at what she had just implied.

Dressler gave him a doting smile. "I can tell that you are beginning to understand me then. And you see now why I could not have you terminated when I have such great use of you….and your beautiful German DNA." ******

* * *

 ****** A couple important historical reference notes: The first successful attempt at _in vitro_ fertilization was actually accomplished in February 1944 by Dr. John Rock and his lab tech Miriam Menkin at Harvard Medical School, but no attempt was made to implant the embryo back into a woman's womb. Nearly 30 years later, in 1973, an English woman, Louise Joy Brown, became famously known to be the first human born as a result of _in vitro_ fertilization, or IVF. Turning 37 years old t his year, Louis is married and has a family.

Sonja Dressler's references to DNA in this chapter are not in error as human DNA was certainly known to exist by the 1960s. In 1953, for example, two Cambridge University researchers, James Watson and Francis Crick, reported the discovery of the structure of DNA. But the existence of DNA itself had been a focus for scientists and researchers all over the world for decades prior to that, all seeking to unravel the tantalizing secrets of what makes us tick. But the actual cracking of the genetic code , so to speak, would not actually begin to happen until much later.

For the purposes of this story, I have obviously taken some historical (literary) license in regard to Sonja Dressler's advanced experiments with IVF and DNA.


	6. Part V

**Part V**

 **"It was truly fated, I think, for us to meet."**

* * *

From his vantage point in one of the air ducts Napoleon Solo watched with relief as Illya and his escorts exited what was the small storage room adjacent to the outer lab. Solo now knew where the secret genetics lab was hidden and made plans to return later that night to find its access portal.

His conclusion was confirmed by Illya, but in a way that left him dumbfounded.

Dressler was speaking to the Russian in German as they moved back into the main lab. When they stopped Solo saw her reach down and place a possessive hand on Illya's left shoulder.

"Is it not fortuitous that you should choose to come here when you did, Nikolaus? It was truly fated, I think, for us to meet."

(Illya, in German) "If I'm to be the father of this new master race," he replied loudly enough for Solo's benefit, believing he was somewhere nearby, "…then who will be the donor mother? Are you also holding someone else prisoner as well so you can use her as you plan to use me in your genetics lab?" he bit out, wondering if this insane woman might not just use her lab to fertilize and create zygotes, but would also force him to actually mate with some kidnapped and terrorized German girl. If so, she would need rescuing as well before this place was destroyed.

Dressler gave an amused laugh, understanding but not caring that he was appalled. "Not at all, _liebchen_! I know you will find this hard to believe, but when I was a young girl about your age I was quite pretty with the most luxurious golden hair and milky white skin." She sighed a little. "The years have not been kind to me, I admit. However, I knew I would never marry and have children while I was so devoted to the Führer and the Fatherland. So after coming here I harvested my ova, or eggs, while I was still a relatively young woman, perfecting a way to preserve them until I could develop the technique of creating a fertilized zygote _in vitro_ , outside the womb in the laboratory."

She smiled brightly at him, her pale blue eyes shining. "For years my experiments have been conducted on the reproductive systems of other women and men, of course, followed by successfully implanting viable embryos back into healthy wombs…which I later aborted. But I now know it can work! My own eggs I have kept safely stored until the time was just right. And that exciting eventuality has come now with your unexpected arrival." Ignoring the incredulous look he gave her she went on: "At this stage of my life I cannot carry to full term the embryos you and I create together, of course, but that is not a problem as healthy surrogates will do." Still smiling she lovingly played with strands of his fair hair. "So you see, _mien Schatz ein (_ "my precious one" _),_ it is you and I who shall give birth, as it were, to the Führer's ultimate vision!

* * *

It was nearly midnight when Heinrich Bauer entered his rooms on the second floor of the fortress. At Dr. Dressler''s orders he'd been preparing the genetics lab for the first series of tests to begin on Nikolaus Werner early the next morning.

He didn't care for Sonja's new pet because something about the young man and his story didn't sit quite right with him.

And, frankly, he was resentful of the attractive newcomer's sudden intrusion into their quiet lives. And Sonja's growing obsession with the young man worried Bauer, who felt her feelings for the boy made her careless in her judgments and actions. And that could ultimately bring disaster to them all.

Therefore he had to find a way to get rid of Nikolaus Werner without bringing suspicion upon himself, a skill which, as a former SS operative, he had been adept at doing when someone needed to disappear or be eliminated.

Bauer was so absorbed in his own dour thoughts about Illya that he didn't realize he wasn't alone in the room until it was too late.

He had slipped off his lab jacket and was hanging it in his bedroom closet when Napoleon Solo moved out of the shadows. Creeping up from behind him as silent as a cat the U.N.C.L.E. agent snaked an arm around Bauer's scrawny neck and initiated a disabling sleeper hold that would not kill the man, only render him insensible for a short time.

Taken completely by surprise and caught tight in Solo's powerful neck hold the last thing Heinrich Bauer heard before blacking out was Solo's hissed whisper in his ear.

"This is for my friend, the blond young man that you delighted in torturing. He sends his greetings…and I'll be sending you to Hell."

Solo dragged the unconscious man to a heavy chair and securely bound his arms and legs to it with ties he found in Bauer's closet. He then gagged him as well with a rolled sock (one the man had been wearing all day) and secured that in place using another tie.

The U.N.C.L.E. agent then removed a small device from the utility belt around his waist and lad it in Heinrich Bauer's lap and switched it on. A small red blinking light indicated it was now activated.

With a sardonic smile Napoleon Solo turned away and left the room.

Soon afterward a groggy Heinrich Bauer awoke to find himself bound, gagged—and starring down at an ominously-blinking explosive device nestled in his lap.

* * *

Bruno Hoffman had settled his huge bulk in a chair outside Illya's room. It was very late and the dimly-lit hallway was deserted because most of the staff had retired to their own rooms for the night.

Periodically Hoffman would open the door to the room he was guarding to check on the young man inside, who appeared to be soundly asleep on the narrow bed. Dr. Dressler had ordered that another sedative be given to the prisoner and thus Bruno knew he'd be no threat or trouble during the night.

His desire to harm the captive had not diminished, but Hoffman was too afraid of Sonja Dressler to touch the young man as long as he was under her protection.

Bored with his assigned duty, and still over-full from too much rich food and lager beer he'd indulged in at dinner, the big man folded his muscled arms across his chest and closed his eyes.

He had just dozed off when he was awoken by two things:

One was the sound of his own sonorous snoring—and the other, a sharp sting in the bicep of his left arm.

Bruno startled awake and looked up to see a strikingly handsome dark-haired stranger wearing a lab coat standing in front of him. With a half smile on his well-defined lips the young man whispered in German, "Nighty night, sleep tight, big boy."

In his right hand he held a small tranquilizer gun, and Hoffman gaped at him soundlessly…then collapsed back into his chair, unconscious.

Satisfied that the guard would be out of commission for awhile, Solo pocketed the small dart gun and positioned Brno more naturally in the chair so should someone wander by it just looked like he had dozed off while on duty. Otherwise Napoleon would have gladly killed him for what he'd done to Illya, but for now that payback would have to be a little delayed.

He moved past Bruno to enter Illya's windowless room which was more like a cell. He caught the gleam of blond hair in the faint light of the lamp and saw that his partner was lying on his left side facing the door. He was clad only in the white pajama bottoms because of his arm cast and bandaged ribs.

Solo could hear Illya's soft breathing as he bent over him, and gently shook him with one hand while at the same time covering his mouth with the other in case he startled awake and cried out. But the Russian remained motionless.

"Illya! Come on...wake up," he urged in low tones.

When he still didn't get any response he checked the younger man's pulse and found it sluggish, muttering, "Damn," when he realized Illya was deeply sedated again.

Napoleon reached into a small pouch affixed to the utility belt around his waist and pulled out a syringe and a tiny vial of amber fluid. On missions U.N.C.L.E. agents sometimes carried such vials should the need arise, as in this case. Its contents he injected into his friend, then knelt down to wait for it to work. Within a few moments Illya began to stir into wakefulness, and seeing Solo tried to speak and sit up but the senior agent pressed him back down.

"Just lie still a little longer while that works through your system to counteract the drugs you've been given."

The Russian sighed deeply and closed his eyes again. "I feel really, really terrible," he mumbled in English.

"I know," Solo soothed. "But we're going to get out of here tonight."

"Where's…Bruno?" Illya asked, his voice thick as he tried to gather his thoughts.

"Snoozing like a giant bald babe in his chair by the door," Napoleon replied. "Oh, and by the way, I paid a visit to your unfriendly torturer, Heinrich Bauer, telling him you send your regards. I'll fill you in on the details later."

He saw Illya weakly smile his thanks and the blue eyes opened again.

"The explosives and the hidden lab?" he asked, referring to the purpose of their mission.

"I discovered the entrance to the generics lab behind that cabinet and have peppered the place with explosive. In fact, the little devils are hidden everywhere in this building. The vent ducts have proven handy in more ways than one. So you see I've been busy while you were getting your beauty sleep these past few days for Dressler." Solo grinned at him. "She's sure got quite a thing for you, my friend. Can't seem to keep her hands off of you."

At his teasing Illya visibly shuddered. "She's really not my type for many reasons, including wanting my so-called 'beautiful German DNA' to help create her baby monsters. Not to mention she's far too touchy-feely."

Solo chuckled at that.

Once again Illya tried to sit up and the senior agent helped him steady himself.

"I can make it, Napoleon," the blond told him. "Let's go."

"You sure?" Solo asked, scrutinizing him closely. Even in the dim lamplight he could see that Illya's coloring was unnaturally pale and his eyes still looked glassy.

"I have no choice and I know the counter serum you gave me will wear off soon. Help me up."

Solo pulled him to a standing position and the two of them went over to the door. The senior agent cracked it open, peering out to see a loudly-snoring Bruno just as he'd left him. Otherwise the hallway was empty.

"It seems quiet now…but I don't think it will take long for someone to realize what's happened, especially if they find Bauer the way I left him," he whispered. Beside him Illya swayed a little and Solo gripped his good arm to steady him. He could now feel the heat radiating off the younger man's body as he stood close to him.

"You're burning up with fever," he frowned worriedly.

"I'm well enough to keep going, Napoleon. Lead on," the Russian insisted despite how wobbly he seemed.

"We've got to get up to the roof top," Solo told him, his concern for his partner escalating. He'd not realized until that moment how truly sick Illya was and feared he might not be able to make it that far.

"I can make it," the other replied firmly as if reading his thoughts. "Let's get out of this damnable place."

Deciding that if he had to he would carry Illya over his shoulder if he should collapse, Solo pulled out another weapon, a confiscated THRUSH handgun, and opened the door. Still gripping his partner's good arm he propelled him down the vast corridor, making a turn here and there until they came to a small elevator.

They boarded it and Solo pushed the button he knew would take the elevator up to the roof of the fortress. As it rose he glanced over at Illya, who he could see was determinedly trying to stay on his feet.

"Almost there," he assured him.

Hardly had he said those words when the elevator suddenly came to a lurching halt…and after a pause, began descending again. Solo cursed, staring up at the dial above the doors. They were dropping back two floors. Pushing the *Up* button repeatedly he tried to reverse the elevator's direction again but it continued its descent, and he and Illya exchanged apprehensive glances.

"No matter what happens now, Napoleon, you must leave me behind. I'll only slow you down. Do what has to be done," Kuryakin told him as the cubicle slowed to a stop.

Solo had no response to that since both of them understood as trained U.N.C.L.E. agents that it was the completion of the mission that ultimately mattered.

He pocketed his weapon, knowing that when the elevator doors opened if he appeared armed both he and Illya would likely be gunned down on the spot.


	7. Part VI

**Part VI**

 **"Time to blow this place once and for all."**

* * *

The elevator panels suddenly parted to reveal Sonja Dressler standing a little behind an armed guard who had the elevator control key in one hand and a nasty-looking Lugar revolver in the other, which was pointed at the two U.N.C.L.E. agents.

The Nazi doctor was dressed in a bulky white terrycloth robe and nightclothes, and her unbound gray-blond hair hung well past her narrow shoulders.

She smiled ominously at them as she said, "When I went to check on you, Nikolaus, I found you missing and Bruno deeply drugged." Her chilly gaze moved from Illya to Solo. "So Heinrich was correct. Someone did come looking for you, _liebchen_ … another remarkably handsome young man, I see." Her pale eyes slid back to Illya. "But you belong to me now and I certainly cannot allow you to leave with your friend." Pointing at Solo she snapped, "Kill him, Fritz!"

Before the guard could fire, Illya launched himself forward to block the shot in order to protect Napoleon. His momentum created a chain reaction, knocking Fritz backward into Sonja Dressler, which sent her sprawling just as the Luger went off—the bullet narrowly missing Solo as it smashed into the rear paneled wall of the small elevator.

With a surprised grunt the guard dropped the Lugar as he and Illya also went down in a tangled heap to the floor with the Russian on top. Despite the broken arm and his bound ribs, the U.N.C.L.E. agent ignored the surge of excruciating pain and mustered every ounce of his remaining strength to slam the side of his rigid left hand into the other man's throat, crushing his windpipe and killing him instantly.

Napoleon, meanwhile, has his attention diverted by the two armed security men who had just appeared at the far end of the corridor and were running toward them. Pulling the THRUSH handgun again he took cover behind a large janitorial cart parked nearby.

Shrieking with rage, Sonja Dressler floundered on the floor, momentarily entangled in her bulky robe. "Do not harm the blond man," she screamed at her approaching guards. She then spotted the Luger lying near the dead guard and scrambled toward it.

Illya rolled off of Frtiz and up onto his knees, just managing to snatch the gun away from the enraged woman's desperate reach.

His expression deadly despite the intense pain he was in, he pointed the Lugar at the Nazi scientist and automatically grated in German, " _Stehen bleiben, Frau Doktor!_ " ("Stay where you are, Doctor!")

Part of Kuryakin's mission had been to assassinate Sonja Dressler, and having the advantage now he could have done that easily; but he was momentarily distracted by the gunfight between Solo and the two security men and thus did not see the woman smoothly slip her hand into her robe pocket and pull out a small revolver, which she pointed at him.

"We seem to have a standoff, _lieber junge_ ," ("darling boy") she said smugly, bringing Illya's full attention back to her, thin lips curving into a triumphant smile. Her icy blue eyes narrowed and locked challengingly with his as she continued. "I am an excellent shot. Put the gun down and I won't let my men harm you if you obey me." She then tried softening her tone and expression. "You know I've been good to you, Nikolaus! And I will make you an immortal among men with untold wealth and power at your disposal! Something THRUSH could never do for you, so surrender…."

The blond agent gave her a tight-lipped smile in return. "There is a saying about not judging a book by its cover," he bit out in German. "My name is really Illya Kuryakin, not Nikolaus Werner. I am Russian-born, not German. And I am an U.N.C.L.E. agent, sent here with my partner to destroy your research and this facility before THRUSH does make contact with you."

Illya saw her countenance change to stunned disbelief, then contort with murderous fury…and he threw himself sideways and fired the Luger just as she fired her gun at him.

Although he was forced to use his left hand, his aim was true—and Sonja Dressler toppled backward, shot through the forehead.

Meanwhile Solo, who had efficiently taken out the other two guards, was racing back to his partner just as a half dozen more armed men emerged from a stairwell further down the corridor. He scooped up the elevator key laying near Fritz's body, then grabbed Illya's good arm and hauled him to his feet, saying, "Nice shot! But time to go!"

The senior agent ushered him back into the elevator again and then leaned out and tossed toward the new arrivals a small smoke grenade he'd snatched from the utility belt at his waist.

He and Illya could hear angry shouts, curses, and then violent coughing as the doors slid shut. Once again Napoleon punched the button that would take them back up to the top level of the fortress; and this time they made it.

Glancing at his partner as the doors slid open again he could see that Illya was fading fast. He looked utterly exhausted now and pale as death, and Napoleon could tell that the earlier intense adrenaline rush from his confrontation with Fritz and Dressler was wearing off; but fortunately Solo knew exactly where they needed to go since he had thoroughly explored the large structure during his time spent in the air ducts.

Using the elevator key Napoleon locked it in place, then with the younger agent in tow he headed straight to a short maintenance stairwell that opened out onto the rooftop.

He bolted the door behind them and led his partner to the center of the roof area. Because they were in the mountains the night air was cool and the sky overhead cloudless with a full bright moon showing.

Producing a stolen THRUSH communicator Napoleon thumbed it on and transmitted a coded signal.

"We have friends in high places who should be here soon," he winked at Illya "Because you'd been hurt, I had to come up with an alternate means of escape for us. I knew you wouldn't be able to make it down the mountain again. "

The other smiled wanly then swayed a little on his feet, and Solo saw that the glazed look had come back into his blue eyes. Thinking the injection he'd given him was also wearing off, he placed a supporting arm around Illya's waist saying, "Hang in there just a little longer," as he intently scanned the night sky.

That's when he felt the warm sticky blood.

"Oh, Christ...you've been shot!" he exclaimed in dismay, staring at his friend. "I thought that guard missed you!" In the moonlight Solo could now see the red stain spreading along the waistband of Illya's white pajama bottoms.

The blond shook his head weakly. "Not the guard. Dressler. As I shot her, she didn't….miss…either."

Napoleon quickly took off the lab coat he was still wearing and ripped off one of the sleeves. "Here, keep this pressed against the wound," he said, giving Illya the wadded cloth. "Why didn't you say something?!"

"Because we were busy narrowly escaping…with our lives," came the wry reply, and then his knees started to buckle, although he did not pass out.

Solo caught and steadied him as he anxiously scanned the sky again.

"Sorry…just suddenly felt a little dizzy," Kuryakin apologized.

"They'll be here soon, and there are medics on board." he reassured him. "Just hang on," he repeated.

"Trying my best. I don't want…to miss the…fireworks," Illya replied faintly.

Suddenly the two men heard the whir of a helicopter as it burst over the mountain tops to hone in directly to their location on the rooftop. As it came nearer Solo and Illya could make out the THRUSH insignia on the side. But at the controls were U.N.C.L.E. pilots.

The chopper smoothly lowered to within a foot of the flat rooftop and the two agents stumbled toward it. Strong hands reached out to help them on board, and then within moments the helicopter lifted up and away into the night sky.

Illya was immediately placed in the medical bay of the chopper and medics began to tend to him. Solo sat nearby, still watching over his friend and partner as he brought the doctors up to speed on the extent of Illya's injuries.

They efficiently began addressing the gunshot wound first and preparing IVs to stabilize the young man, who was amazingly still conscious.

"Time to blow this place once and for all," Solo said, flashing Illya a knowing grin. Holding up his wrist he pulled out the stem on his watch…and then pushed it in.

The chopper had flown a safe distance away by now but everyone on board still heard the chain-reaction series of explosions that followed, and Napoleon and Illya exchanged broad smiles amid the cheers from the helicopter crew.

Peering out a side window of the chopper Solo saw a huge fireball light up the sky as the fortress, its inhabitants, and most importantly, Sonja Dresler's research and genetics lab all were destroyed in that erupting blaze of glory that could be seen and felt for miles.


	8. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

 **U.N.C.L.E. Headquarters, New York City**

Alexander Waverly had just finished reviewing the full report submitted by Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin regarding the Bolivian mission to destroy Sonja Dressler and her genetics laboratory, which would be code-filed later as "The Master Race Affair".

Dressed in business suits and ties the two young men were seated across from him awaiting any further comments or questions their section chief might have concerning the mission and its successful outcome.

Illya had just been released from the hospital two days earlier and this was their full debriefing together, although Solo had given Waverly the basic details when he and Illya had returned from South America.

"Certainly one of our more unusual cases, especially in regard to Mr. Kuryakin's unwilling participation in Dr. Dressler's master plan to manipulate the human gene pool," the craggy-faced head of New York U.N.C.L.E. mused aloud as he closed the report folder. His keen eyes held a hint of amusement when he glanced over at the blond agent, who was looking a little uncomfortable at the mention of Sonja Dressler's intended use of him.

"Overall a job well done, gentlemen." their chief acknowledged.

"Thank you, Sir," they replied in unison.

Waverly cleared his throat and leaned back in his large leather chair. "Mr. Solo, I am temporarily assigning you to work with Mr. Slate while Mr. Kuryakin is still recuperating from his surgery and other injuries. Miss Dancer is on an extended leave due to a family wedding in California and is not available for a new mission to Paris. You will leave immediately. Mr. Slate has all the particulars."

"Always happy to work with Mark," Solo nodded, then glanced over at his partner with a slight smile. "Although Illya knows he'll be missed."

"And me, Sir?" the Russian asked hopefully. His right arm was in a fresh cast and sling, and Solo knew he still wore bindings under his dress shirt for his fractured ribs in addition to added padding covering the stitches from his surgery for the bullet wound, which fortunately had not hit any vital organ.

Looking at him now, Solo felt that Illya still appeared a little too peaked for his taste and wished Waverly would order his partner to get more bed rest; but they both knew the headstrong Russian hated inactivity of any kind no matter the reason.

Waverly placed a different portfolio on the table in front of him and turned its revolving top until the folder reached the blond agent. "Mr. Kuryakin, I'd like you to monitor and translate a series of coded messages we've been picking up out of Thailand. We suspect THRUSH is installing a satrap there and your knowledge of that country and language could prove most helpful. "

Relieved that Waverly hadn't put him on extended medical leave, Illya reached into the inner pocket of his suit coat with his good hand and pulled out a pair of dark-framed reading glasses. Putting them on he opened the new brief and began scanning its encrypted contents eagerly,

Waverly and Solo exchanged amused glances, then the U.N.C.L.E. chief said, "Very well, that will be all for now, gentlemen. Thank you"

Nodding, the two agents got to their feet and left the office.

As the door swooshed shut behind them a mischievous smile crept across Napoleon Solo's handsome face, and he glanced sideways at his shorter partner, who was still engrossed in the folder Waverly had given him.

"What are you grinning at," Illya said, sensing the other's amusement as they walked along

"Oh, I was just envisioning all the little blond Illya's that might have been running around and ruling the world someday after they grew up if Sonja Dressler had had her wicked way with you," Solo laughed.

Illya flashed him a pained look. "I don't find that idea half as funny as you apparently do," he retorted, his expression mirroring his deep revulsion at the memory of his close encounter with the Nazi doctor and her infatuation with him. He looked back down at the folder in his hand. "Can we please drop the matter?"

But Napoleon wasn't quite done with the teasing. "Well, you have to admit her plans for you gave a whole new meaning to the concept of, er, Planned Parenthood." And before Illya had a chance to respond to that Solo said quickly, "Aah, I see Mark up ahead. See you latter. Paris awaits!"

Picking up his pace the senior agent blithely added over his shoulder, "Happy translating!"—and with that he strolled off down the corridor, leaving his exasperated friend and partner glaring at hi retreating back.

 _***FINIS***_

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 _ **Author's Note:** Once again, thank you sincerely for reading this story, and I hope you enjoyed it for its action/adventure and suspense._

 _The idea of this story was in part inspired by the 1967 MFU episode "The Gurnius Afair" involving Nazi baddies, one of whom Illya will pose as. ("Just like his father!")_

 _I do have a new story in mind that isn't quite as intense as these first two have been. I hope to be able to post later in July if time and real life obligations permit. :-) xxD.A._

* * *

 _(P.S. I'd like to make clear that this story was NOT meant to belittle the German people as a whole, then and now. And as a Reviewer correctly noted, the Nazis were not the only ones who had done atrocious things to other human beings. My country, America, has a dismal history of mistreating its Native Americans, esp. in the past. And then there is the shameful institution of slavery...which still haunts us to this day in other ways._

 _Also, Nazi Germany wasn't the only nation to employ some of the theories behind eugenics, at least in some form. In the early twentieth century several countries around the world did embrace and implement eugenics to some degree (although not as extreme as NG had), including Britain and America,. The movement in America advocated sterilization of the mentally ill and racial discrimination against certain ethnic immigrant groups wanting to come to the U.S.)_


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